


Affliction

by NinjaSniperKitty



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Curse of Strahd, M/M, Pining, Referenced Sex, Strahd being his terrible self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29565129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSniperKitty/pseuds/NinjaSniperKitty
Summary: Escher had loved Strahd once upon a time, and he liked to think that Strahd had loved him back; it broke his non-beating heart to think otherwise.
Relationships: Escher (Curse of Strahd)/Strahd von Zarovich
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	Affliction

The room is silent save for the crackling of firewood in the hearth. Beneath his ear, Escher cannot hear the steady thrum of a heartbeat from within Strahd's ribcage. It may have been startling were his own heart not silent as well. Even as he recovers from their—admittedly strenuous, even by his standards—coupling, his heart does not rapidly pound blood past his lungs. His lungs do not take heaving breaths; they could if he wanted them to, sure, but it's something that had fallen out of practice for him decades ago. Why bother breathing when your body no longer has any need for oxygen?

The vampire spawn-turned-consort inhales deeply just to fill his lungs with the scent of his master. The smell of musky oils in Strahd’s hair and sex is comforting. The weight of a well-muscled arm draped across his upper back presses him closer to Strahd's sturdy form, and Escher feels more content than he has in a long time.

Yet the feeling is disappointingly fleeting. Strahd gives a brief squeeze to Escher’s shoulder before moving to sit up. With a huff, Escher pushes himself up from Strahd's chest enough to allow him to move.

He props his head up on a hand, his blue eyes following his master as he stands up and goes to refasten his trousers. Strahd is dressed in a black dress shirt, unbuttoned at the chest and cuffs. He can't help but note how handsome the other man is. Unlike himself, who had been bitten when he was but a young man and had held onto his smooth features, Strahd reeks of maturity. The lines along his face tell the story of a man who had spent the better part of his days as a soldier; the gaunt cheeks and pallid skin tell the story of a man who would spend the rest of his days as the undead.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Strahd notes, his eyes focused on buttoning his cuffs.

Escher can't help but smirk. “Apologies. I'm merely enjoying the view.”

Strahd scoffs in response.

The vampire spawn stretches out languidly across the sheets. His own body is nude, cold with undeath despite the roaring fireplace along the west wall. It would probably be proper for him to dress, but he is far too comfortable in his own skin at the moment. 

“One of the things I miss most about being amongst the living is having a taste for alcohol. There was nothing quite like unwinding with a glass of red after a particularly, ah, eventful night.” The vampire spawn makes a thoughtful noise. “Alas, even the thought of partaking makes my stomach churn nowadays.”

“Hm.”

Escher allows himself to savor the feeling of the satin sheets against his bare skin a moment longer before begrudgingly sitting up, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He restrains himself—this time—from watching Strahd bend over to fasten his boots and instead observes the shadows flickering along the east wall. “I might go peruse the larders; I find myself craving a red of a different variety. Care to join me, love?”

“No. I have business to attend to.”

Escher's brow furrows. The monotone of Strahd's voice catches his attention and this time he does allow his gaze to fall on the elder vampire once more. “Is everything all right?” He pauses. ”Was the sex satisfactory?”

“To both questions: yes.”

He's not convinced. Strahd seems… distant, to say the least. He's spent enough time around the nobleman to be cognizant of when he's in a sour mood. During such times, Escher prefers to stay far away from him lest he draw his ire. Self-preservation, he likes to call it. But the fact that Strahd's mood has shifted so quickly after having purred honeyed words into his ear not moments ago makes him worry that he may have done something wrong. 

He wants to fix it—whatever  _ it  _ may be.

“Is there something weighing on your mind? Something that I could perhaps help with?”

Rather than reply, Strahd merely shoots him a look that would freeze the blood of the less courageous. But if anything, Escher is a determined man.

He reaches out to weakly—as to not be perceived as a threat—grab Strahd’s wrist. His voice loses its typical plummy tone and softens. “Strahd, you know if you ever need anything, I’m here for you, yes? You can talk to me.”

Strahd gently but firmly pulls his wrist away the minute Escher’s skin brushes against his. A smile pulls at his thin lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Your devotion is appreciated.”

“I mean that. There is very little that I wouldn't do for you.”

“I know, Escher.”

Escher frowns at that. He swears that Strahd has not said more than five words to him at once in years. It is such a sharp contrast to the Strahd he had known, the Strahd he had fallen in love with. 

It is such a sharp contrast to Strahd the silver-tongued romantic, who would whisper sweet nothings against his ear as they danced throughout the halls of Ravenloft, words that were filled with promises of spending eternity together.

Strahd the connoisseur, who would discuss literature with him long into the morning. Although he would never admit it, the man was especially well versed in poetry and could recite the works of the great poet Volskya by heart.

Strahd the musician, who could play the organ with the haunting beauty of a man who'd witnessed lifetimes of suffering, his somber notes an antithesis to the rich sound of his bow tugging at the strings of his violin while their music filled the halls of Ravenloft.

Strahd, the man he had loved once upon a time. And perhaps Strahd had even loved him back. He liked to think that, anyway, as the contrary is still too difficult for his non-beating heart to handle.

The only times he can get Strahd to speak at-length are when he has upset him. Malicious words come easy to the ancient vampire, and they and rarely in short supply. His anger is dangerous; where there is anger, there is the threat of being locked in the catacombs, forced to shrivel away beneath the stone lid of a tomb. Escher values his freedom above all else; a wooden stake would find itself piercing his heart before he let something like that happen. But the longer he can postpone the inevitable and stay in his master’s good graces, the better.

Without another word, Strahd turns to leave his quarters.

He doesn’t know what comes over him at that moment. Panic? Anxiety? Having Strahd wordlessly walk away from him makes his stomach feel as if it has suddenly sunk through the floor. As if a lever had been pulled in his brain, Escher blurts out, “Are you bored of me?”

His words are enough to have Strahd slowly turn back around, and Escher immediately regrets it. A part of him wants to clasp his hands over his mouth and apologize for his impudence. Yet somehow he stays brazen, even when Strahd’s face is an unreadable mask. 

“Why do you ask?”

Escher inhales deeply before speaking. He has already started this. It would be unwise for him to try and withdraw now.  _ Gods help him.  _ “I… I so rarely see you anymore.”  _ He can do this. _ “When we do see one another, our interactions are always brief. Unfeeling, even. There are times in which you act as if I matter little to you. Forgive me for my boldness, Master, but I want to make things right between us, and—”

“You are worried that I will discard you to the catacombs,” Strahd states matter-of-factly.

The observation causes Escher to pause, his blue eyes wide.  _ Yes. Yes, that is it exactly. I’m worried you hate me. I’m worried you no longer enjoy my company. I worry that this was all for naught and that I will spend eternity alone under your thrall.  _ Were he to admit to it, would Strahd see him as weak for worrying about such things? Would he laugh in his face and toss him to the wayside anyway? Escher opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

It feels as if his ribs are glass and Strahd has peered into his heart. There is a certain inexplicable tightness in his chest as if that very heart had been ripped out and stomped on. He may no longer breathe as a man does, but he can still feel as a man does. If only death had taken that from him as well.

“Your expression speaks volumes.” Strahd pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Has Rahadin been filling your head with such ideas?”

Escher looks to the floor, pretends as if there is something interesting written upon the rug.

“I have told him to stop this behavior, and yet…” He sighs. When his dark eyes open, they're cold, bereft of that patience he'd once shown when he was but a fledgling vampire. 

“Say that I was bored of you. What would you do, Escher?” Strahd tilts his head slightly.

_ You're dodging the question,  _ Escher notes with a slight frown. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, thinking. “Were I a living man, I would certainly die. A life where I cannot feel the warmth of your love is certainly not one worth living. Yet that freedom has been taken from me.” Escher doesn't bother to hide the wry smile that creeps up his lips. His voice twists with emotion. “Seeing as how death is no longer an option, I would do whatever I must for you to look upon me as you once did. I would serve you as a soldier, a spy, a body to warm your bed, a coat rack—whatever you needed of me.” 

His voice grows quiet. ”Whether I like it or not, you're all that I have now, Strahd.” His family, those that were still alive, would never accept him as he is now. And he would never burden them with the knowledge of his turning—better that they think him dead, bled dry along the Wolf’s Road by some brigand.

Strahd stares at him, unblinking and deep in thought. Were Escher a fool, he'd almost think that he just saw a hint of regret flash across his impassive features. But he is no fool.

“You make it seem as if it is a terrible thing to have only me.”

“No! Master, I—”

Strahd holds up a silencing hand. “Remember that it is you that chose this life. You accepted my proposal and swore fidelity to me.”

The muscles in Escher's jaw tighten. He'd accepted Strahd's proposal, yes. Consummated their marriage. But nowhere along the way did he have a choice in whether or not he became some undead thrall. Even if he had been given the choice, he is uncertain whether the Escher from over five decades ago would have turned down that terribly tempting offer of immortality, of being Strahd's forevermore. Perhaps he is more a fool than he thought…

Any words that had been on his tongue are quickly swallowed down. They feel like acid in his gut. “Of course, Master. Please forgive my impudence.”

Escher can't bring himself to meet Strahd's eyes, but he can feel his gaze boring into him for several long, excruciating moments. While he felt on top of the world earlier when caught in the elder vampire's embrace, he now feels small. Weak. As if those fleeting moments of pleasure were hollow—just like the other man's words of praise. 

Strahd finally responds. “Continue doing as I demand, Escher. That is all I can ask of you.” His tone is gentle if not exasperated, but there is unmistakable malice around the edges. 

Without another word, Strahd turns and leaves his bedchamber. The sound of the wooden door closing behind him hurts more than any of his words.

Escher's fist suddenly finds itself buried in the wooden headboard. He screams in frustration.


End file.
